


Where Peter finds Tony's alcohol cupboard

by spider_babbo



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Sad Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Underage Drinking, two part thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-08 19:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spider_babbo/pseuds/spider_babbo
Summary: Peter is intrigued by his mentor's alcohol stash. He's so tired of the nightmares, he just wants something that'll take the edge off and give him a good nights sleep (and also to tell Ned what it all tastes like). It doesn't go to plan...





	1. Oh dear

**Author's Note:**

> Hey loves, this is probably just like a short story in two parts. People keep saying I should carry on my other two oneshots but honestly idk if I'm committed enough eek, but if you're inspired and want to carry it on yourself you may! I always wondered what it'd be like if Tony could be a proper iron dad and take care of drunk Peter, this is a lil angsty but will be cute hopefully!!

_Ben…Ben please…oh my god please, Ben…shit shit shit!_  
.  
.  
_WOULD SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!_  
.  
.  
_BEN, OH GOD…BEN!_  
__.  
.  
There’s a swooping feeling in Peter’s head as he suddenly wakes up, hot, bed sheets clinging to his sweaty back, eyes flickering around the room as he comes to, breathing rapid. Another one of those dreams…well, more nightmares…about that evening. The evening he’ll never forget, never forgive himself for, and never tell Tony about – he’d loose everything he’d gained since the day it happened. His amazing friends (who were the Avengers too, which still gave him butterflies), Tony, who felt more like a Dad, the fun days and nights in the complex, tinkering with Tony, playing pool with Sam, sciencing with Bruce, all that stuff. No, that event was his to bury, to protect all he had built, he could deal with the nightmares if it meant Tony would still love him and let him keep the suit. Because Lord, Peter knew he’d crush Tony’s iron heart if he found out he’d basically killed his own Uncle, been an incompetent and stupid fool, and destroyed his family life forever.  
Peter happened to be at the complex that night; it was Friday, and Peter had been invited for pizza and movie night with Tony and the rest of the gang. It had gotten very late, and he’d given May a heads up that he was staying over in his room at the complex, weary after the school week and from laughing at Tony’s impressions of Mrs Doubtfire. Exhaustion always gave him worse nightmares.

____

____

Peter reached over for his glass of water, to find it empty. Groaning and wiping his hand over his greasy forehead, he tiptoed out of bed and headed for the kitchen, hearing his feet unsticking from the smooth floor as he walked. The light came on at a low setting for him – courtesy of F.R.I.D.A.Y – and he filled his glass at the fridge. The ice cool water was soothing, gulping it down like he’d been to the desert, and the sudden change in temperature helped ground him.

_Breathe in…hold for 7….breathe out for 8…._

__

A mantra he repeated in his head a few times. He saw on the oven clock that it was half three in the morning, and screwed his forehead at his brain’s timing. 

_Couldn’t I have had the nightmare a little later in the morning…_

__

As Peter walked behind the breakfast bar towards his room, he saw the glint of a bottle against the early morning light. He bent down to inspect closer, and discovered that the cupboard where this glint came from was a little hidden, and ajar. He looked up over the bar to check the coast was clear – he didn’t want to be caught snooping, that would do nothing for his anxiety – and opened it fully. He’d come across the treasure of the kitchen; Tony’s alcohol cupboard, which looked like it contained more than the local bars. Bottles of Bourbon, Gin, Rum of all kinds, Vodka, Tequila, Absinthe, Cointreau, and some very fancy looking beers. Peter had a strange impulse to have his own taste testing session, after all, he’d never been allowed one sip of alcohol – not counting the tiny amount of beer he’d got his hands on at one of Flash’s dumb parties. They all looked so appetising and shining, all sorts of colours, liquids distilled to their finest tastes and textures… he could see why Tony drank. 

Peter thought. It was rude to steal someone’s drinks, even if it only would be a few tiny sips, plus he ran the risk of getting caught – the smell of booze on the breath was always noticeable, he smelt it on so many criminals he dealt with. However, Peter never really got to sleep after waking from one of his more severe nightmares - the ones that took him back in time to the very moment, that left his stomach recoiling and breathing fast. A little alcohol would definitely help him get back to sleep peacefully, maybe he’d even get to lie in, plus he could tell Ned what it really tasted like and whether Flash was just pretending to know all of the fancy drinks to look good. He was sixteen now, basically an adult, and a member of the Avengers, a few sips wouldn’t hurt.  
The only problem was…it most definitely did not end up being a few sips…

.

Tony had just fallen into the land of nod, when the voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y bled into his subconscious. Tony hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but he couldn’t help but grumble “Seriously Fri” as she was talking.  
“Boss, it’s Peter. He’s intoxicated.”  
“Sorry…he’s _what _now?”__  
“His Blood Alcohol Concentration is over .30%. Even with his metabolism that’s too high Boss-“  
“Fri, what do you mean alcohol content? He’s been drinking?”

__

____

Tony was already throwing on a dressing gown and hurrying out of his bedroom, on his way to Peter’s room, ready to throw a fit. _This boy…_

__

“It appears he’s had a mixture of spirits and beer, he’s in the kitchen, I’ve been trying to calm him down but nothing seems to be helping; he keeps shouting for Ben.”  
Tony whitened slightly at this. He knew Ben had been Peter’s uncle and carer with his Aunt May after his parents had died, and he knew Ben was deceased – that’s all Peter had ever said. Even though F.R.I.D.A.Y was an A.I., she still sounded frantic, and Tony knew this was more than it seemed. 

__

Picking up the pace to the kitchen at a jog, his feet thumping on the soft hallway carpet, Tony’s heart rate was speeding up to prepare him for the state Peter was in. He’d just reached the partition to the kitchen area when he heard groaning and wet sniffles coming from behind the breakfast bar. Tony slowed his pace, knowing he had to tread carefully.

__

“Peter, it’s Tony. What’s going on kid?” he spoke gently as he approached the boy, collapsed in on himself, head in his hands.  
Tony gently moved the bottles away from Peter that had formed a circle around him; softly clinking together, and he noticed how many varieties of alcohol there were, and how some bottles were considerably more empty than others. Peter’s head came up from his hands to greet Tony, and it lolled to the side as the drunkenness compromised his balance. 

__

Being brutally honest, Peter looked like shit to Tony; the bloodshot weeping eyes, the shining red face, tousled hair. Tony had seen this look before in the mirror, after many nights of heavy drinking and overdoing it. It disturbed him to see it in one so young as Peter, one he felt a certain protection and duty over, someone who didn’t deserve this pain. But the worst part was the expression behind Peter’s eyes: he looked like he didn’t recognise Tony at all, and he appeared to gaze right through him. The word Flashback shot through Tony’s mind.

__

“Where’s… Uncle Ben?” slurred Peter, struggling to form his consonants, “I need…to make sure he’s…awlri-“ His eyes rolled into his head as he started to pass out, and Tony held onto his shoulders.

__

“Woah Pete, steady. Stay with me, yeah?” Tony was doing his best to keep his voice level as he said quietly to the early morning light “F.R.I.D.A.Y give me his readings.”  
“He’ll black out soon Boss, he’s dehydrated, BPM at 51 and slowing. He appears to be in severe psychological distress.” Came the A.I’s cool voice.  
Tony could see that, as Peter had waited for an answer on his Uncle Ben’s whereabouts for too long and started to sob again. His eyes darted around the room as if seeing something Tony could not, and Peter gripped onto his arms.

__

“Please, please just help Ben!...I’m sorry I’m sorry May!” Peter’s face contorted as he wailed for his Aunt and Uncle, inhaling sharply, whilst Tony was trying to put the pieces together as to what the hell Peter was talking about.

__

“Pete don’t say sorry, you’ve not done anything. You’re safe in the compound with me, Tony, the one that flies the big fancy metal suit around.” Tony tried to sooth Peter and ground him, gently stroking his curls and wiping a few tears away in the process. Peter’s voice got lower and even more broken as Tony heard the most devastating words come from his lips;

__

“I _killed _him…It’s all my fault…”__

_____ _

Tony had no reply to that; he couldn’t utter a word, and felt weighed down by this heavy knowledge, his mouth dry. Peter was slipping into unconsciousness, still whispering slurred words that Tony couldn’t make out anymore. Tony didn’t like the idea of getting other people involved, but he needed help carrying Peter back to bed without injuring himself, and to get some water into his system.

_____ _

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, wake up someone strong and tell them I need help carrying Peter to his room – don’t give them time to ask questions.”  
“On it boss.” She replied calmly.

_____ _

Tony supported Peter in his lap; his mouth slightly ajar, eyes softly closed, watching his eyebrows twitch as if in deep conversation with himself. Tony’s heart pained at the sad affair before him, and he wondered how this had happened, Peter had seemed fine this evening watching the film and having a laugh. Another thought crossed his mind – did Peter do this often? God forbid this was a regular occurrence; Peter shouldn’t have coping mechanisms like this at 16, not on Tony’s watch. Help arrived in the form of Sam Wilson, interrupting his thoughts. 

_____ _

“What the hell happened is he alright?” Sam spoke fast as he hurried over on light footsteps, eye brows knitted together.

_____ _

“He’s not injured, I’ll explain once we’ve got him in bed. If you carry him I need to get him some water with a straw.” Tony gave the sleeping boy to Sam, and he lifted his dangling limbs off the ground with ease; Tony noticed how small Peter was in Sam’s arms. 

_____ _

“Jeez Tony, have you been drinking?” Sam asked, sniffing the air. Tony turned from the tap with a fresh glass of water with a look that said ‘You really don’t know the half of it’, and it didn’t take Sam long to realise it was actually coming from the very underage boy in his arms. Tony nodded for Sam to walk towards Peter’s bedroom door, and they managed to lie Peter in a fairly comfortable looking position under the covers. Tony needed to wake him so he could drink at least a little bit of water – he couldn’t imagine the hangover this boy was about to experience in the morning (actually, he could), and he needed to flush the booze from his spider system. Tony gently shook Peter’s shoulder, his head swaying a little and long eye lashes twitching.

_____ _

“Hey Peter, come on bud, you need some water.” Tony held the glass near his mouth and pointed the straw to his lips, whilst Sam supported Peter’s slouching frame. Peter stirred a little more and slowly blinked his eyes open just enough to see the straw in front of his face, and like a turtle peaking its head out of its shell, he leaned and grabbed the straw and drank a few sips. Tony didn’t know if Peter was aware of his surroundings yet, but at least he was confident that he needed to drink. He quietly asked F.R.I.D.A.Y for his vitals again.

_____ _

“BPM risen to normal resting rate, he’s still very dehydrated.”  
“Thanks Fri, we’ll let him sleep after a few more sips of water.” He said to both the A.I and Sam, running his hand over his forehead and massaging his eyes. When Peter passed out with the straw in his mouth after nearly finishing the glass, Tony filled it up at the sink once more, and left it beside Peter’s bedside. He watched him sleep for a few seconds before turning the light off and leaving him in peace, or however much he could get. It would be a very strange and perhaps awkward morning tomorrow; Tony wasn’t going to let this be swept under the rug.

_____ _


	2. Telling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy lovely readers, here is part 2!! This is the end of this short and sweet fanfic, but I hope you enjoy it non the less! I hope I can write something longer one day in the future as I love writing, but as I say I don't always have a lot of time. Again thank you so much for your lovely feedback!! x

Peter woke suddenly, his body sitting itself up, and then came the excruciating nausea as he bolted to the bathroom on very unsteady legs. He just made it to the toilet as a river poured from his mouth; it burned the back of his throat and he retched several times, the sound echoing unpleasantly. After what seemed like forever, he caught a break from the endless vomiting, and placed the toilet lid down to cool his hot sticky forehead on, panting. The floor felt like it was moving under his knees, and he clung to the toilet bowl for dear life; he had _never_ felt like this before, he wouldn’t have even wished this feeling on The Vulture, or Flash, or anyone who wasn’t cool. He must have eaten something bad last night…

Wait… what was he doing last night that gave him such a sinking feeling?

As the cogs turned in his brain, like a curtain pulling back to reveal the day, the events of the night before hit him, and in turn he retched again, splattering what he now remembered was booze into the toilet bowl.

Peter swallowed thickly, wiping his face with toilet roll, as he tried to come up with what to say to Tony when he inevitably saw him. How had he let his stupid self get into this mess? What on _Earth_ was he thinking that he could control himself to just a _few_ sips of alcohol – people got addicted to this stuff too easily, from all walks of life. Tony would be so incredibly mad; he pictured the steam coming out of his ears as he would inevitably confiscate the suit again, along with the worst lecture he’d ever get. How heartbroken he’d be at Peter’s betrayal towards his own Uncle, the disgust that would fill his eyes as he turned away from him forever. He saw the entirety of the Avengers pretending he never existed, saw Happy never coming to collect him from school anymore for after school compound days. Then he’d tell May, and he’d have to watch her disappointment and anger, and swallow it whole.

This day had gone from 0-100 for Peter, and he was sure this would be the worst day of his life. So he decided he should probably start packing his stuff up before being confronted by Tony; it would make it a lot easier on him to get out of his way fast. But before he could start, he needed to calm down enough to stand, as he hadn’t realised he’d started furiously sobbing into the u-bend, and he saw his tears hitting the toilet water. After a few heavy exhales, Peter rubbed his eyes until he saw purple, and stood slowly on shaking bambi legs. He gulped the water from the sink and splashed his face and neck, not bothering to look in the mirror; he couldn’t stand the sight of himself. He just made it to the bed without losing his footing, and sat down to wait out the vertigo. He noticed the time was 9:15am – not really Tony’s time of day – maybe he could escape before he woke up?

_Coward_

His mind commented, perhaps rightly so; it would be unfair to leave without facing the consequences of his actions, rubbing salt in Tony’s wound. As he started feebly collecting his personal belongings together however, it seemed Peter wouldn’t get to make that decision, as there was a knock at the door.

Peter’s head shot up too fast for his hungover state, and he felt his brain swish around in his skull. He tentatively said “Hello?” as the door gently opened to reveal Tony, looking incredibly tired and anxious. But as soon as he saw Peter standing over his bedside table, he gave a gentle smile. Peter was frozen in time, waiting for the blows to come.

“Hey kid, you’re up earlier than I thought you’d be. Fri let me know you were awake. How you doing?”

Peter was confused. Where was the look of disgust and rage on Tony’s face? Where was the bitterness and harshness in his voice? Why wasn’t he shouting at him, telling him he’d had enough of the sight of him? Telling him how much of a disappointment he was? Peter couldn’t form any words; his mouth open like a fish out of water gasping for breath. Tony didn’t push, he just waited patiently for Peter to speak up, watching his huge eyes, glistening and fearful.

“I’m sorry.” Peter finally blurted out, and bit back the lump in his throat.

“Come sit down, Peter. We can talk –“ Tony paused as he looked towards Peter’s hands, raising an eyebrow.

“Pete…are you packing?”

Peter looked down at his hands, then back up to Tony. The older man would have giggled at Peter’s child-like guilty face, if he hadn’t have noticed the tears forming in his eyes, and his hands starting to tremble.

“Peter, please let’s just talk, if you’re up for it. But don’t go anywhere yet…” said Tony, trying hard not to plead, but he held his gaze with worry. Tony saw Peter’s lip wobble, and watched as he pursed them, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the heartbroken whimper that followed. Peter looked down, seeing the tears that were about to spill swallowing half of his vision, and he blinked them away, feeling them cascade downwards, and that’s when he felt angry.

“Why aren’t you mad with me?!” Peter yelled, his head shooting up to look at Tony’s, seeing him jump at Peter’s sudden loud voice.

_Peter never raises his voice…_

“I remember last night! I told you that I _killed_ my own fucking Uncle!” Peter was gasping between most of his words, as the sobs overpowered him.

_Peter never swears…_

“I’m a _disgrace,_ an _embarrassment,_ I shouldn’t even be on the team! So why haven’t you kicked me out yet? What are you playing at!” Peter’s voice cracked, as did he, and he couldn’t say anymore through his rage filled crying. Peter put his hands on the back of his head, bending forwards, and Tony could see how much he was _shaking_ with the force of holding his emotions. Peter groaned, sucking in breaths through his teeth, and Tony crossed the room like he’d glided over ice. All he thought was,

_Not my Peter._

And he got there just in time, as Peter made a fist at the wall and was ready to bulldoze his whole arm through it, but Tony grabbed it and his other arm, calling his name gently, repeating ‘It’s ok Pete’, Tony cradling Peter as he got him to sit down on the bed. Peter was a little, frightened boy in his arms, as he cried freely into Tony’s shirt, nuzzling his face on the soft fabric, and bunching it up in his hands at Tony’s back.

All other commitments left Tony’s mind – nothing mattered more than this boy right now – he’d never felt the intensity of his love for Peter hit him so strong as it did now, and he wondered when he’d become this character of care and paternity. Feeling Peter’s arms wrapped around his torso, clinging on for life, he had no words to describe it, he just knew that he would _not_ let Peter go, not for anything.

The pair stayed there until Peter’s crying had become sniffles and his breathing had become steady and deep; Tony not letting up with his gentle stroking of Peter’s back. When Tony figured they had come to an opportunity for him to speak, he said gently “You need anything bud? Some water?” remembering how dehydrated he must be from his alcoholic antics. Peter nodded timidly into Tony’s chest, clearly torn between needing a drink and having to let Tony go to consume it. He gently untangled himself from the boys arms, quickly filling up a fresh glass of water in the bathroom, and glided back to Peter. He gulped it down like he’d been in the desert for two months, but he saw Peter massage his stomach, willing the liquid to stay put.

“Don’t go puking on me Pete” Tony said with a small chuckle, and Peter just shook his head gently, smiling the smallest of smiles. Peter didn’t hesitate slotting himself back into Tony’s frame, inhaling the scents of oil, hair gel, clean cotton; safety he hadn’t felt since he’d last hugged his parents. After a few more beats of comfortable silence, Tony spoke up again with more direction.

“Do you wanna talk about anything? I’m all ears for when you’re ready kid.”

Peter stiffened slightly, and pulled back to look at Tony, eyes red-rimmed but present. Peter nodded slowly, trying to prepare the words he inevitably had to say, catching them in butterfly nets as they flew around his head.

“I’m really sorry for stealing your alcohol Mr Stark.” (Tony, for the 1000th time, reminded Peter to call him Tony) “I’d…had a nightmare and went to get some water, but I never usually sleep after them, and it was 3am, and I saw your alcohol…and I know it makes people sleepy…I’m sorry it sounds so dumb.” Peter tipped his head down in shame, voice growing quieter. Anger was the last thing on Tony’s mind however.

“You have these nightmares often then?”

A shaky nod from Peter. Tony hummed in sympathy.

“Pete, that’s nothing to be ashamed of, I can almost certainly guarantee everyone in the team gets them on the regular. I did every night…not as much now; time heals a lot of things, as does therapy.”

After the initial shock that even _the_ Tony Stark had nightmares, Peter couldn’t help the warmth of mutual understanding spread through him, and he would have smiled, if he didn’t have to explain anything else about yesterday.

“I mean I’m sure you realise this now, but drinking isn’t the way we deal with these things Pete – and yes I’ve done my fair share of drinking away my problems – but you don’t need to do that. I learnt the hard way and I don’t want you to follow.” Tony’s voice sounded too wise to be coming out of him, _where the hell was this mentor wisdom coming from, not my Dad for sure…_

“Are you sure you’re not mad?” Peter prodded again.

“Kid, I think I can afford to replace a bit of booze in my cupboard, don’t sweat it.” Tony smiled, and ruffled Peter’s hair playfully. Peter tried to enjoy it, but he knew what was coming next…

“So…you were saying a lot of ‘stuff’ last night, Peter. Do you…wanna talk about any of that? If you remember.” Tony was really struggling to phrase these questions without sounding like he was interrogating the kid. Peter really, _really,_ wished he didn’t remember, and could blissfully smile up at his mentor, asking ‘what did I say?’. But, it was now or never, because Peter was sure not comfortable with bringing these events from his past up himself. Peter nodded, and unhinged his unwilling jaw to speak.

“It’s a long story…and I’m gonna spare the gory details if that’s ok, Tony.”

A beat of acknowledgment.

“My Uncle Ben, he was…shot, on the street, not long after the bite.” Peter swallowed the nauseating feeling that came up every time he had to say out loud that Ben had died.

“It was sort of an accident, an armed robber fleeing the scene, and Ben had tried to stop him. I was…on a sort of patrol at the time, a few blocks away.” Peter checked Tony’s facial expression, but it was unreadable; the early morning sunlight reflecting through his brown eyes.

“Karen hadn’t heard anything on the police radio, I guess it was over so quickly. I was breaking up a fight trying to calm these people down…I passed over him after I’d done…on the street…but there were people crowding round and I couldn’t see what it was…” Peter’s voice was shaking under the pressure of his words, ringing his hands in his lap.

“I got home and soon there was a knock at the door, the cops…I nearly threw up on one of them when I’d realised what I’d seen, what a fucking _dumbass_ I’d been…” Peter’s voice had reached nearly a whisper, “Why didn’t I just _stop_ and help for God sake?” he spat, self-hatred and shame coursing through his veins, gritting his teeth; he was too exhausted to breakdown in full force again. He ended the story with the words that were tattooed onto his subconscious:

_It’s my fault._

Tony was aghast, still; he felt chilled to the bone at what Peter, at such a young age, had had to bear on his shoulders. He embraced Peter this time, clinging onto _him_ for support at the story that had just been passed from one mind to the other. This unnecessary guilt could have been prevented from manifesting into what it was today in his turmoiled brain, and Tony knew Peter had definitely not had any support since the shooting. He’d been failed, and that was the _only_ thing Tony was mad about. The boy who helped everyone, had suffered himself, alone. Tony wanted to march into the NYPD, Peter’s school, the _fucking Whitehouse,_ and scream at them. He wanted to pick Peter’s guilt off of his shoulders like the millstone it was, and hurl it at the authorities, the people around him, for failing one of the kindest and most gentle teenagers he’d ever met. Where were the grief counsellors? Where was the financial support? Where was the _compassion?_

_Well, fuck everyone else…_

_If you want anything doing, do it yourself._

.

And that’s what Tony did. He did it all himself (and of course with encouragement from wonderful May). He got Peter into regular therapy sessions, he made Peter’s room at the compound more homely and suitable for when his senses were playing up and he needed a place to relax, he got the school to control the brat kid Flash and get him off Peter’s back (and Ned’s too), he made sure Peter never went without. He never did anything without Peter’s approval and blessing, and he could tell Peter wasn’t used to this whole ‘self-preservation’ thing; he was too selfless for his own good Tony thought sometimes. But, Peter finally let himself be helped by Tony, and he was very glad he did.

Instead of nightmares every night, there were more nights spent dreaming peacefully about his Avenger family, or nights spent awake with them, or nights with Ned building Lego, or nights of ice cream and hugs with May. Instead of stealing alcohol, there was stealing a few bits of popcorn from Tony’s bag, or stealing a grin from MJ as she finally grew to like his corny jokes.

Instead of pain, most of the time, there was gain for Peter.

There was life to be lived.


End file.
